


Xmas Seho

by oneforyourfire



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Felching, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 04:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16987941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire
Summary: It's so romantic





	Xmas Seho

**Author's Note:**

> this was actually written a year ago and one of those, like this tweet to be linked to the google doc deals  
> but i hate how empty oneforyourfire looks lately  
> so here you go

It’s so romantic, Sehun tends to think, when Joonmyun can’t seem to wait long enough to drag him the 40 or so paces to their bedroom. Far too heated, too hard, too overcome, too lost in him, can't seem to get enough, can't, can't, can't seem to hold back, has to pin him to the nearest surface and take him then and there, interior decorating be damned — in the kitchen, in their bathroom, by their pantry closet, or right now, just like this, in front of the Christmas tree they've just finished decorating, illuminated by twinkling Christmas lights.

Joonmyun is wearing one of his ugly Christmas sweaters — stamped, dancing, garish snowmen — in the holiday spirit already, generous, warm, so bright and happy to the touch. And his kisses taste like eggnog and cinnamon apple pie, and he smells like their cedarwood body wash, and Sehun is too heated, too hard, too overcome, too, can't can't can’t seem to hold back, has to have him then and there, pinned and wanton and needy. Come on, hyung. Come on.

It's so romantic and so hot and so, so gratifying, and Sehun parts his legs and moans in encouragement, shuddering already at how Joonmyun bunches up Sehun's clothing, tosses it easily to the side, shuddering even more heavily at the way his mouth sears against his throat, his chest, his nipples, his waist. And it’s so romantic and so hot and so, so gratifying the fact that he doesn’t even bother to undress himself, too, too focused on Sehun. On ruining him with his tiny, taunting kisses, tinier, even more taunting bites.

 

And oh, oh, oh,  _ yes _ , the circumstances, those occurrences, they tend to have them using their mouths, and oh, oh, oh, Joonmyun's tongue — even just like this, dipping into his belly button, grazing over his quivering hip bones.

 

Sehun’s bare skin drags raw against their shag carpet, and oh even that feels romantic, even that reminds him of the life that they’ve built together, the home they own as Joonmyun’s fingers tighten around his thighs. And there’s romance and heat, too, in the way that Joonmyun’s soft sweater grazes his trembling skin. In the way their strung Christmas lights wrinkle overhead, casting Joonmyun in blue, red, green, gold as Joonmyun spreads Sehun further, kissing up his quivering thighs, chuckling when Sehun moans helplessly.

 

His mouth, just the promise of it. Hyung, hyung, hyung, please —

 

Joonmyun pushes Sehun’s legs to chest, and oh the force in even his tender, tender grip, and oh, the sharp sting of his teeth, oh, oh, oh, the warm succulence of his tongue, teasing, teasing, teasing with the most fleeting, filthy, filthy, wet, wet friction.

 

Right, right, right — _ please _ .

 

“Fuck me,” he babbles. “Hyung, please, please, please, fuck me, fuck me,  _ fuck _ me — ”

 

And Joonmyun, perfect and generous and hot and so, so, so amazing, hyung, indulges, and oh that tongue. Tracing mindless, breathtaking, tiny, teasing shapes into his skin easing easing easing until Sehun is sloppy and wet and so, so desperate.

 

Whimpering, Sehun tugs at his own nipples, then at his own hair, the only places he’s really permitted to touch when Joonmyun gets like this, and Joonmyun murmurs something wet and hot and wicked before pushing pushing  _ pushing _ , and Sehun, scratching down his own sides, sobs out a loud, broken  _ yes _ . Then  _ please _ . Then  _ hyung, hyung, hyung _ .

 

Joonmyun’s shoulders press aching and forceful, blunt fingernails drag stinging and hot against the back of Sehun’s thighs as he bends, coaxes him more open, more wanton, more helpless. And he flicks his tongue faster then harder then deeper. His obscene moan rumbles through Sehun’s entire body, and it’s so deep and wet and hot and sinful, and oh, oh, oh, hyung.

Sehun sobs again — louder, even more broken, when Joonmyun’s fingers curl around his cock as he fucks fucks fucks. Dragging and sloppy and loud and pointed and just, just, just right.

Sehun tangles his fingers helplessly in Joonmyun’s gelled hair, scrambles over the soft fabric of woolen sweater, when Joonmyun shudders suddenly, his eyelashes fluttering shut. 

And Sehun knows he’s touching himself, and it nearly undoes him. How much he wants this, too. How much he wants him, too. 

And oh, oh,  _ fuck,  _ it must be his non-dominant hand, Sehun registers with a hitching sob, and of course, Joonmyun is still taking care of Sehun, still putting him first, and of course it's so romantic and overwhelming and hot and ruinous and hyung, hyung, hyung, I love you, hyung, hyung, hyung. Sehun’s entire body arches sharply into the pressure, the pleasure, and he bucks his hips inelegantly into Joonmyun’s hand, grinds his ass inelegantly onto Joonmyun’s mouth. Blinking past the overwhelmed tears stinging in his eyes, he needs and needs and needs —

Joonmyun’s thumbnail flicks just beneath the engorged crown just just just at the same time as his teeth sting against his rim and oh, oh,  _ oh _ —

Orgasm crashes suddenly through him, tearing and wild and painful, and Sehun shivers and sobs and scratches and spills, and Joonmyun keeps keeps keeps stroking and licking and moaning until Sehun can't bear it. Until the pleasure lances through him and he whimpers for relief, please, please, please, hyung. He  _ can’t _ —

And it’s only then at Joonmyun pulls away,  breathless and flushed and dark eyed and swollen lipped and so, so smug and so, so achingly handsome.

And Sehun is trembling still with the aftershocks, needing him still with his whole body, his thighs sliding together, knees knocking, restless as he watches him. Waits for him. Wants him.

 

"Hyung," he says. "I love you," he says. "Please," he says.

 

Tipping forward, Joonmyun kisses the come off of his stomach, then mouths lower, lower, lower, teasing his mouth over Sehun’s spent, hypersensitive cock, and Sehun trembles away from the excruciating, tortuous, wet, wet heat. He can’t, can’t, can’t —

“Mouth," Sehun rasps. “Hyung, fuck my mouth.” And Joonmyun wobbles inelegantly forward. Sehun sits up just enough to tug off his sweater, his shirt, grasps at his warm, flushed, soft, quivering skin before swallowing him down. His, his,  _ his _ . 

And Joonmyun curves forward with rough raw moan, cupping Sehun's face, bucking his hips into the friction.

Sehun moans past the slick, slick drag, the heaving weight of his cock, loving the way that Joonmyun’s stomach tenses beneath his questing fingers, the way his breaths crest into the deepest groans, the way his cock pulses with every heartbeat, the way he wants and <i>needs</i> him, Sehunnie, his baby boy, his perfect, perfect love. And  overwhelmed, overcome as he is, Sehun is sure to blink up at him, slow and heavy, smug, too, in his own way. Even as he gags and tears and whines and scrambles to right himself.

He can take it. He can take even  _ more _ . He can take anything Joonmyun has to offer. And he can make him come. He can make it so good that Joonmyun can’t help but come — and hard .

Joonmyun’s thrusts harder, harder, harder, then messier, messier, messier, and Sehun takes and takes and takes, wants and needs him to come. Wants and needs him as bone-deep sated as Sehun feels. Come on. Come on. Come on. 

His finger dig into Joonmyun’s thighs then drag over his balls then tease over his asshole as he continues to gag and tear and swallow and whine and right himself through Joonmyun’s increasingly frantic, increasingly faltering thrusts, shivering as Joonmyun’s palms clap steadingily against his cheeks. 

Whimpering, Joonmyun tangles his fingers suddenly in his hair, tugs him off, then tosses him on knees, and  Sehun arches his ass back in wanton, weak, weak anticipation. The twinkling Christmas lights are blurred kaleidoscope of glimmering colors, and oh, it’s still so romantic, and it’s still so perfect, and Joonmyun still needs to come, please, please, please, hyung, he wants it so bad, come on, on him please, mark him please, own him please —

And oh, Joonmyun’s moan of completion is his favorite, favorite thing, the perfect, perfect gift, as he streaks hot and wet and possessive across Sehun’s back, ass, thighs. Right right right as he should. 

Sehun lurches with a shuddering moan, loving how marked and owned and loved and utterly ruined he feels. And Joonmyun’s fingers slide sticky and hot through his own come, push what they can inside of Sehun’s body, marking and owning and loving and ruining him.

 

And  _ fuck _ , Sehun would come again if he could, wants to — just to tell him how hot and perfect he is, how Sehun is never, ever left wanting, how  _ fuck, hyung _ — but he collapses instead, exhausted and sated and so, so warm. His cheek crashes on the floor, dragging across salmon pink fibers, and he inhales shaky, raw, ruined, claws back for him. The anchor, the security, the warmth of his love. 

 

Joonmyun blankets his body completely — or really as much as he can — and follows him down, then continues to slide further down, down, down, kissing soft and slow and sweet over the knobs of his spine, the small of his back, the curve of his ass.

And warmth and contentment thrum through Sehun’s entire body.

 

And it’s so romantic and so hot and so, so gratifying. 

“We’ll need to rent another carpet cleaner,” Sehun manages, voice, limbs trembling. “Minseok hyung will scold us during Monopoly night. He always  _ knows _ .”

Joonmyun hums absently, murmurs softly about how they’ll go tomorrow after groceries, as he fans his fingers across Sehun’s ass cheeks then squeezes, then spreads. He tips forward, too, makes as if to kiss and lick and fuck — again. Mark and own and love and ruin — again. But Sehun gropes a hand back for him, and squeezes, halts.

 

Joonmyun, he knows, could eat him out all day if allowed to. But —

 

“Hyung,” he says. “Can’t,” he says, and Joonmyun laughs, rests his chin there instead. His finger whisper up Sehun’s sides, then down, a circuit repeated twice, thrice.

Shivering, Sehun turns, brushes Joonmyun’s hair up, cups the curled, flushed apples of his cheeks, his throat, his shoulder. And Joonmyun laughs again but snuggles closer. Their warm, sticky, pink skin adheres wherever they touch.

 

And Joonmyun, his handsome hyung, he’s breathless and sweaty and spent and warm and soft and wholly his.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
